


Five Times Bruce Banner Needs New Pants + the One Time He Doesn’t

by awesomesockes, whumphoarder



Series: Christ, What Now? [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bows & Arrows, Broken Bones, Bruce Banner Needs Some Pants, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Crack, Drinking, Fire, Gen, Humor, Hurt Bruce Banner, Pants, Poor Bruce Banner, Post-Mission, Science Bros, Science Experiments, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomesockes/pseuds/awesomesockes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: Given his tendency to turn into an enormous green rage monster, pants never last long around Bruce these days. That’s why Tony jokingly signed the man up for a ‘Pants of the Month Club’ subscription. Little did the poor, unlucky scientist know just how vital that shipment would become.Welcome to Bruce’s week from Hell.Or, Five Times Bruce Banner Needs New Pants + the One Time He Doesn’t





	1. Monday: Tony Vs. Pants

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Sally0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally0/pseuds/Sally0) for beta reading and laughing at all our dumb jokes during this story's creation.

Given his tendency to turn into an enormous green rage monster, pants never last long around Bruce these days. That’s why Tony jokingly signed the man up for a ‘Pants of the Month Club’ subscription. Little did the poor, unlucky scientist know just how vital that shipment would become.

Welcome to Bruce’s week from Hell.

**X**

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 5 days until shipment arrival]**

“C’mon Tony, you haven’t left your lab in three days,” Bruce argues. He’s standing in the workshop’s entrance, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Tony is perched on the edge of a stool, one leg tapping on the floor as he sits hunched over his current project. “Not now,” he says irritably, shooing the scientist away with a hand wave. “I’m really close to a breakthrough here.”

Stepping further into the lab, Bruce takes in the sad-looking pile of metal scraps and wires spread out before his friend. “What is that even supposed to be?” he asks with a frown.

“If you can’t tell, you don’t deserve to know,” Tony huffs.

Bruce rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment; he knows better than to try to make sense of Tony’s ramblings when he’s in this state. He goes for a different approach. “It’s team dinner night. Steve made meatloaf.”

“Nothing you could have said would make me want to leave this lab less than that.” Hands jittering, Tony tugs at one of the wires with a pair of pliers.

“You need to eat,” Bruce insists. “Knowing you, you’ve probably been living off coffee and peanut M&Ms since Saturday.”

FRIDAY interrupts, “In the past seventy-two hours, Boss has consumed two pieces of cold pizza, twenty-seven gummy bears, half a Snickers bar, and the filling from six Oreos, along with eleven pots of black coffee.”

“Traitor,” Tony mutters, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Dear god, how are you even still alive?” Bruce groans. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

“Alright, FRIDAY, put that on my to-do list,” Tony commands. “Once I finish my prototype for this self-propelled cup holder.”

Bruce blinks at him. “...A what now?”

Tony stares back, an almost crazed glint in his eyes. “It hovers.”

Bruce sighs. “Tony, you’re being ridiculous. Stop acting like a five-year-old and come to dinner.”

“I’ll eat when I’m done,” Tony insists, taking another swig of coffee from the novelty Hulk fist mug on the workbench. Bruce rolls his eyes—he never should have mentioned how much he hated Hulk merchandise because now it’s a running joke at the compound to buy as much as possible just to annoy him.

Eventually, Bruce realizes he’s not getting through to Tony with logic. Shaking his head slowly, he makes his way back out to the communal kitchen where the rest of the team is scattered, filling plates and making small talk with each other.

Steve looks up expectantly from the gravy he’s stirring on the stove. Bruce just shrugs and shakes his head silently.

“Still no luck?” Steve asks.

“No, he’s determined to work himself to a caffeine-induced early grave,” Bruce retorts. “He’s half delirious, talking about literal flying saucers.”

Steve passes him an empty plate which Bruce starts piling with meatloaf, gravy, mashed potatoes, and a scoop of rather gray-looking peas that he’s pretty sure came from a can. Steve’s culinary skills were honed in his military days, so they leave a bit to be desired. He’s got quantity down, but quality is lacking.

After topping the plate off with a crumbly brownie, he quickly makes another plate for himself and then snags two forks and a couple of napkins before slipping back down to the lab.

Tony is in much the same position Bruce left him, eyes glazed over and staring straight ahead, turning a bolt over between his fingers as if expecting the piece of metal to start talking to him.

“Alright, dinner break,” Bruce announces.

“That smells hideous,” Tony remarks, his face screwing up in disgust. “Tell Cap the war is over—we don’t need to eat roadkill anymore.”

Unamused, Bruce steps closer to the workstation. “It’s protein. Do you remember what protein is?”

Tony turns his head away as the scientist approaches. “What’s wrong with Oreos?”

“You need food,” Bruce insists, walking around to Tony’s other side. “Real food. Protein, carbohydrates, vegetables…”

A bit of color drains from Tony’s face and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Bruce, seriously, stop,” he mutters. “I can’t eat that right now—I don’t feel good.”

“Of course you don’t feel good!” Bruce says in exasperation. “You haven’t eaten in three days!” He plops the plate down on the surface in front of Tony. “Now eat before you pass out.”

Hesitantly, Tony opens one eye to squint at the plate. Then before Bruce can register what’s happening, the engineer turns his head to the side and vomits.

Bruce stands there, shocked, staring at the hot, dark liquid running down his khaki pants.

Tony seems equally surprised by what’s just occurred. He just sits there, panting heavily. “Maybe we should have started with a cracker,” he rasps out. “Or some toast.”

Still staring at his pants in a daze, Bruce nods slightly. “Yep, good idea. You do that, and I’ll go change.”

Tony grunts affirmatively before heaving again.


	2. Tuesday: Hulk Vs. Pants

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 4 days until shipment arrival]**

Traces of green are still fading from Bruce’s skin as he makes his way back up the ramp onto the Quinjet, Thor’s cape wrapped around his waist to preserve whatever scraps of dignity he has left. Beside him, the god is clutching the tattered remains of his favorite pair of jeans.

Tony snickers at them as the two men step onto the ship. “You blow off some steam?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Tony,” he mutters. “Where’s my bag?”

From the storage compartment, Tony retrieves a simple black gym bag and tosses it over. Rather than drop his makeshift covering to grab it, Bruce opts to just let the bag hit him in the chest. “Nice,” he deadpans.

When Bruce agreed to tag along on this mission as substitute Quinjet pilot, he didn’t expect The Other Guy to make an appearance, but over the years, he’s learned it’s always best to be prepared with extra clothes.

As Tony moves back to the cockpit to fire up the engines, Thor turns to Bruce. “It was a valiant—albeit unexpected—effort put forth by your green friend today,” he remarks, giving the scientist a hearty clap on the back and nearly causing him to drop the cape. “He was a great assist in taking down those tanks.”

“Uh, thanks. I’ll be sure to let him know...” Bruce mutters back. Carefully bending down, he unzips the bag on the ground. But after opening it, he freezes. “Tony!” he yelps. “What is this?”

Tony spins his chair around to look at Bruce, who is now holding up a neon pink sports bra. Snorting out a laugh, Tony remarks, “Teal would bring out your eyes better.”

Bruce flips the bag over, dumping the rest of the contents out onto the floor. Besides the bra, the bag also contains a towel, a pair of running shoes, a water bottle, some protein bars, and a heart rate monitor. “You were on cargo duty this morning—where the hell is my bag?” he demands.

“Better question,” Tony says, walking back over to stoop in front of the overturned luggage. “Why do you and Pepper own the same gym bag?”

“I need pants, Tony!” Bruce exclaims in frustration. “Now!”

Smirking, Tony reaches into the pile and holds up a bit of matching neon pink spandex. He dangles it in front of Bruce’s face.

Before Tony can comment, Bruce groans, “And _no_ , Pepper’s hot pants do not count as pants!”

With a pout, Tony teases, “Aw, but you’d look so cute...”

Taking the shorts from Tony, Thor holds them out and pulls at the edges, testing the material’s stretch. “These are pants?” he questions, frowning. “I thought it was a napkin.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Bruce demands, feeling the veins in his neck starting to bulge. “It’s a four-hour flight back to the compound and I’m wearing an alien god’s cape as a _skirt_!”

“Oh come now, Banner, nothing we haven’t seen before!” Thor chuckles. “On Asgard, it is tradition following a battle for the victorious party to parade naked through the streets, celebrating with drink and dancing and beautiful maidens!”

“Now, that I want to see,” Tony remarks.

Running a hand over his face exasperatedly, Bruce lets out a deep sigh. “Can we stop at Walmart?”

Tony scoffs. “I’d have to double park the Quinjet.”

Then at Bruce’s look of utter misery, Tony chuckles and pats his friend on the shoulder. “Relax, Brucie,” he says. “We’ll figure something out.”

**X**

Five minutes later, a significantly more patriotic-looking Bruce reenters the cockpit. “What’s this thing made of, wool?” he grumbles as he scratches at the leg of the oversized star-spangled costume that Tony fished out of Steve’s locker.

“Do you feel the righteousness coursing through your veins?” Tony asks with a smirk.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

 


	3. Wednesday: Peter Vs. Pants

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 3 days until shipment arrival]**

When Peter shyly asks Bruce for help with his chemistry homework one Wednesday afternoon, the scientist is surprised and a bit flattered. It’s nice to be needed for something simple for once rather than the usual Avengers level crises.

“...So we need to determine the pH of a 0.10 M solution of H2SO4,” Bruce reads off the paper. He points at the chemical abbreviation. “Do you know what that is?”

Peter glances up. “Sulfuric acid, right?”

“That’s right,” Bruce confirms. With a chuckle, he recites, “Johnny was a chemist's son, but Johnny is no more. For what he thought was H2O was H2SO4.”

Peter huffs out a quick laugh. “Yeah, our chem professor likes that one too.”

“There’s actually a really cool experiment you can do with sulfuric acid and sugar,” Bruce remarks. “It dehydrates the sugar and turns it into carbon, growing out of the container like a giant black snake. Looks pretty cool—I could show you if you want.”

Peter’s eyes light up and a grin spreads across his face. “Really? I mean, that sounds awesome!” His face falls slightly. “But I don’t want to take too much of your time…”

Bruce waves a hand dismissively. “It’s no trouble. Experiments are the best way to learn anyway.”

**X**

Fifteen minutes later, both he and Peter are sitting on stools in Bruce’s lab, wearing goggles and rubber gloves. Two beakers sit on the counter in front of them, one full of white sugar and the other a clear liquid.

“Okay, now we take the sulfuric acid...” Bruce instructs. Peter reaches over him to grasp the liquid-filled beaker. “And now you’ll want to very carefully pour it into the—”

Just then, there’s a sudden ‘thud’ as a bird crashes into the laboratory window causing Peter to jerk his hand in surprise. The beaker slips from his grip and hits Bruce’s left thigh, spilling the liquid all down his leg before the glass shatters on the floor.

Bruce swears and jumps to his feet. The acid is already soaking through his brown corduroy pants and starting to burn the skin underneath.

“Oh my god!” Peter exclaims in horror. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! It was the bird, I just, I—” He goes to hop up from the stool but the scientist instantly halts him.

“Careful! Careful!” Bruce commands, already fumbling with his belt buckle. “Watch where you’re stepping!”

“I’ll clean everything up, I swear!” Peter babbles, racing after him. “I’ll just get some towels and—”

“Oh no you won’t!” Quickly, the scientist kicks off his shoes and pants as he hurries over to the yellow station on the opposite side of the lab. “This stuff will eat right through your clothing! Just, uh, just stay where you are.” He pulls off his lab coat, rubber gloves, and goggles, chucking them to the side as well. “We’re just gonna have a little change of plans here—you’re now getting a live demonstration of the use of the emergency shower.” Bruce yanks the shower cord and cold water immediately starts pouring down over him.

Peter stands halfway between the workstation and shower, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and wringing his hands nervously. “Really really _really_ sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Bruce assures as he pumps soap into his hands. “This is really, uh, useful information as well, see”—he lathers his left leg down with the soap, careful not to rub too hard on the burned area—“you never know when accidents might happen, so it’s important to have a safety plan in place, just in case, um—”

He’s cut off by the sound of the lab doors swinging open. Tony strides in a half-second later, his face etched with concern. “What is going on?” he demands. “FRIDAY said there was some kind of accident?”

Water still streaming down over him, Bruce suddenly realizes just how ridiculous he must look standing in the middle of the lab wearing only his boxers, socks, and a soaking wet t-shirt, aggressively showering. “Hey, Tony.” He waves a soapy hand at the man in the doorway. “Just helping Peter with his homework.”

Tony shifts his gaze to their abandoned workstation and follows the trail of clothing back to the lightly smoking pants on the floor near the shower. He raises an eyebrow. “Carbon snake experiment?”

Peter hangs his head. “So, so sorry.”


	4. Thursday: Clint Vs. Pants

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 2 days until shipment arrival]**

“So it just follows you around?” Steve asks, curiously pointing at the small metal contraption hovering near Tony’s right elbow.

“Yeah, wherever I go,” Tony confirms. He walks around a bit, sharply changing direction several times to demonstrate how the object follows him. “The flight stabilizers in the core are similar to the ones in the Iron Man suits. Just scaled the size down.” He removes the glass of scotch from the flying cup holder and takes a sip before placing it back again. “It also has thermoregulators for optimal beverage temperature.”

Bruce rolls his eyes good-naturedly at his friend. “Maybe on the next upgrade you can make it carry a dinner plate. That would be more useful in your case.”

With a smirk, Tony presses a button on the top of the device. From a slot in the side, a small circular tray pops out with a single cookie. Tony’s eyes sparkle. “It can bring Oreos.”

Bruce turns around, shaking his head. “I need a drink,” he mutters.

Moving over to the bar, he passes by Clint, who is sitting in a chair, giggling at Tony’s display. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” the archer says, a slur to his words.

Tony flips him off with a scowl.

As Bruce pours himself a drink, Clint gets to his feet, wobbling slightly. “I’ll show you something actually cool,” Clint declares.

“You mean cool like that time you tried to do a double backflip in the lounge and broke my fourteen thousand dollar Ægget chair?” Tony quips.

“You were in a neck brace for three weeks,” Rhodey points out.

“I made it look good,” Clint retorts. He takes another swig of his beer as he moves towards the doorway. “But just wait, this is gonna blow you all away!”

He leaves and the conversation shifts back to discussion of the cupholder, the mildly intoxicated Tony enthusiastically explaining his robotic design process in detail while Steve and Rhodey politely nod along, looking lost.

“So it only follows you?” Steve questions. “Or could it follow anyone around?”

“It’s connected to my biosignature, same way I call my suits,” Tony explains.

Bruce scoffs. “Not very marketable that way.”

Tony frowns at him. “Why would you think I want to market The Flying Saucer? No, no, this stroke of genius I’m keeping for myself.”

Clint stumbles back into the room, an almost giddy look in his eyes. “Got it!” he announces, holding up a compound bow.

“Oh wow, what a shock,” Tony says with an eye-roll. “The archer has a new bow.”

“Same bow,” Clint corrects, whipping an arrow out of the quiver he’s now wearing and notching it on the string. “New arrows.”

“Oh boy…” Steve sighs.

“Here we go again,” Rhodey remarks.

With a huge grin, Clint aims the bow forward in the mechanic’s direction. “Now watch this!”

Tony’s eyes widen in horror. “Barton what the fu—”

It all happens in a split second. Rather than firing at Tony, Clint suddenly raises the bow up and fires it backwards over his shoulder in the direction of the bar. Instantly, the entire arrow ignites into a burning white flame as it sails across the room directly at Bruce.

Bruce leaps to the side just as the arrow whizzes past his thigh and lodges into the wooden base of the bar.

“That’s mahogany!” Tony hollers, turning on the archer.

“...Oops,” Clint says. “I was aiming at the bottle of Belvedere.”

“Are you insane?!” Tony looks murderous. “You were aiming at _vodka_ with a _flaming arrow_?!”

A sudden heat on his thigh diverts Bruce’s attention from the bickering men down to his own leg. “Oh shit!” he yelps.

All eyes turn to Bruce. The loose fabric of his dress pants is sporting a small but quickly growing flame.

Rhodey gasps and jumps up from his seat. “Oh fuck!”

“Jesus Christ!” Tony exclaims. Bruce is urgently flapping at the material, trying to smother the flames as Tony hurries over, the cup holder following behind.

“Stop drop and roll!” Clint cries, racing forward as though he intends to tackle the poor scientist to the ground, but Steve jerks out a hand and grabs the back of Clint’s shirt to halt him.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Steve says firmly.

Tony leaps over the bar and snags a fire extinguisher. Ripping out the pin, he aims it at Bruce’s legs and douses his pants in a spray of white powder.

When the cloud of powder dissipates, Rhodey taps his fingertips first to his forehead, then chest, and then each shoulder, muttering what sounds like a Catholic prayer.

Bruce groans. “See this is why I never come to poker night.”


	5. Friday: Nat & Steve Vs. Pants

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 1 day until shipment arrival]**

It’s common knowledge that Steve likes to help out around the compound. He takes out the trash, shovels the snow from the walkway, loads and unloads the dishwasher, carries in the groceries, and one time he was even seen sweeping out the chimney.

But the one chore Bruce really wishes the soldier would not attempt to help out with is his teammates’ laundry.

“Fuck…” Bruce mutters as he hops his way into the now slightly shrunken pair of freshly washed (and, strangely enough, ironed) jeans. Clearly washing machines have become a bit more complicated since the thirties.

He barely manages to zip them up, but given that they’re his last pair, he figures it’s better than showing up to give the welcoming speech for a local high school’s science fair in his boxers.

To add insult to injury, when he reaches the stairs, his feet slip out from under him. He tumbles down, flipping over himself several times before smacking his head on the banister.

Then everything goes black.

**X**

When Bruce comes to, he’s lying on the floor, head pounding and a deep ache pulsing through his left leg. His eyes are still closed, and he’s disoriented and confused to hear two voices over him.

“...FRIDAY was trying to alert Tony—something about a ‘Man Down Protocol’?” Steve’s worried voice is saying. “I just found him like this.”

“He’s been out the whole time?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah, FRIDAY said he fell down the stairs,” Steve replies. “Damn, his leg is really swelling up…”

Bruce lets out a groan, unable to contain his frustration at the soldier. “Next time, it’s machine wash cold, tumble dry low...” he mutters.

He can practically hear the frown in Steve’s voice. “What?”

“The head injury must be worse than we thought,” Nat says grimly. “He’s not making sense.”

A hand on his injured leg sends a fresh jolt of pain up Bruce’s leg. He gasps and snaps open his eyes to see the two of them kneeling beside his feet, Natasha holding a knife just above his left foot.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Bruce demands, a slur to his words.

“Cutting your leg off,” Nat answers simply. “Hold still.”

“What?!” he yelps.

“Your pant leg,” she clarifies with an eye-roll, positioning the blade just inside the ankle of his jeans. “Relax.”

“But that’s even _worse_!” Bruce exclaims.

Steve places a consoling hand on the man’s shoulder. “Bruce, it’s gonna be okay,” he assures. “It’s just that your leg is really swollen and we need to get your jeans off to see what the damage is.”

Bruce covers his face with his arm and groans into his elbow. “No you don’t understand!” he moans miserably as Nat slices open the pants to reveal his mangled leg. “This was my last pair.”


	6. Saturday: Pants Vs. Bruce

**[Pants of the Month Club order status: 0 days until shipment arrival]**

The next morning, Bruce is propped up in bed, his broken leg in traction as he marathons Downton Abbey. Happy (funnily enough, the two of them have always gotten along quite well) is munching on popcorn in the chair on the left side of the bed. Tony sits to the right with his feet up on the edge of the mattress, scrolling through his phone and only occasionally glancing up at the screen.

“This show is weirdly addicting,” Bruce remarks, reaching over for another handful of popcorn. “How many seasons did you say there were?”

Happy holds the bowl closer to the incapacitated doctor. “Six, but they’re gonna come out with a movie soon.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yup,” Happy confirms. He tosses a kernel in the air and tries to catch it with his mouth, but it bounces off his eye instead. Tony snorts.

“We should go,” Bruce says.

“I’m down,” Happy agrees.

“Oh get a room already,” Tony mocks.

Just then, the loud beeping of a truck backing up issues from outside the window.

“The hell…?” Happy mutters, getting to his feet. He opens the blinds and Bruce cranes his neck to see out the window. A delivery worker is waving his arms to direct a semi truck back into the loading dock.

Happy opens the window. “Hey!” he calls. “What’s going on here? I am head of security at this compound, and I don’t recall authorizing any deliveries for today.”

“This is rush order from ‘Pants of the Month Club’,” the worker hollers back. “We have a shipment of, uh”—he glances down at the clipboard in his hands—“I quote, ‘a fuckton of pants’ for one ‘Dr. Bruce Banner’?”

“‘Bout damn time...” Tony grumbles.

Bruce looks at him questioningly. “What is he talking about?”

Tony shrugs. “I saw you were struggling, so I upgraded your subscription.”

“To a whole _truck_?!”

“Just to get you back on your feet”—Tony’s gaze shifts to the cast and he frowns—“Until you, uh, get back on your feet. Anyway, I got a whole assortment. Should be some sweats in there too…”

Bruce leans back against the pillows with a sigh. “Thanks. I think.”

“Of course, Brucie.” Tony grins. “You know I’ll always cover your ass.”


	7. Sunday: Bonus Drabbles

**Scissors Vs. Pants**

From the substantial stack in his closet, Bruce fishes out a pair of brand new sweats. He hobbles back over to the bed on his crutches and plops himself down before picking up a pair of scissors.

With a sigh, he cuts off one of the pant legs. Damn cast—the doctors say it’ll be six weeks until he’s healed.

Finished, he gets to his feet and goes to pull them on, but stops short when he realizes he’s cut off the wrong leg.

“Fuck…” he mutters, hopping back to the closet to retrieve yet another pair.

* * *

**Paint Vs. Pants**

Dressed in plaid pajama bottoms, Bruce makes his way to the gym. “Tony!” he snaps.

Tony turns around from the wall he’s painting with white primer. “Yeah?”

“Why are you wearing my pants?!” Bruce demands, gesturing angrily to Tony’s paint-stained faded denim overalls.

“These are _your_ pants?”

“Yes!” Bruce exclaims in frustration. “And now you’ve gone and ruined them!”

“Oh.” Tony glances down at himself. “Sorry, buddy. I thought they were trash.”

Bruce covers his face and groans. “Why are you even painting that?”

Tony smirks. “You’ll see soon enough…”

* * *

**Cup Holder Vs. Pants**

Post-transformation, Bruce is left panting as he leans up against a building, trying to get his bearings. Despite the pain of every one of his cells reverting to their human form, he’s pleased to see that the nanotech shorts Tony designed him have actually held up.

Speaking of Tony, a second later he hears the telltale clang quick metal steps on asphalt as the other man approaches. Tony retracts his helmet. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec…” Bruce mumbles. He hunches over and breathes deeply, trying not to puke.

Just then, a low buzzing sound appears, growing increasingly louder. He glances up and instantly frowns when he sees a small metal contraption flying towards Tony.

“Is that—” Bruce cuts himself off. “Did you… Did you bring your _cup holder_ to battle?”

“So I might have forgotten to turn it off,” Tony says with a shrug. “But on the plus side, it did knock out a guy.”

Bruce opens his mouth to say something but instead burps sickly and immediately closes it again, fighting to keep his lunch down.

Tony grimaces. “I can have it bring you a ginger ale?” he offers.

**X**

Twenty minutes later, Bruce is dabbing off the sticky soda that the device just spilled all over his nanotech shorts with a wad of napkins.

“Alright, guess I still need to work out some kinks,” Tony admits.

* * *

**Dinner Vs. Pants**

At the end of a long day of training, the whole team is sitting around the kitchen table at the compound eating Mexican take-out.

Over the conversation from his teammates, Bruce asks Nat, “Do these tacos taste funny to you?”

“I wouldn’t know, I got the chicken kind,” she replies.

“So did I,” Rhodey says.

Clint adds, “Me too.”

“I got chicken too,” Steve says.

Thor throws in, “I got fish!”

“Chicken here too,” Tony says. “What’d you get?”

Bruce frowns as he chews. “Beef.”

***Three hours later***

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. “You okay in there, Bruce?” Tony’s voice calls.

“I told you they tasted funny,” Bruce groans miserably.

“Need anything?”

Bruce sighs. “Maybe some Pepto.” He adds in a mumble, “Uh… and maybe some new pants.”

“Yep, no problem,” Tony replies quickly and Bruce hears footsteps walking away.

* * *

**Bruce Calls a Truce**

Tony walks into the kitchen early one morning and does a double take at the sight of Bruce’s bare ass as the man stands at the stove, making pancakes.

Tony quickly glances to the side. “Uh, Bruce, I think you forgot something, buddy…”

Clad only in a flowery apron, Bruce spins around and points the spatula at Tony’s head, glaring. “You know what, Tony? Fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in seeing what Tony was painting, check out our other collab, [Avengers Vandal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306287/chapters/43330028)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading our very silly story! We had fun creating this one. 
> 
> Please let us know your thoughts in the comments below :D
> 
> Come and hang out on tumblr if you want: [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/) & [awesomesockes](http://awesomesockes.tumblr.com/)


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